Dreams On Paper

  The cupboard made a loud rusty noise of nonco-operation when opened. The room filled up with the musty smell of memories, old and refreshing. I reached out and took my albums. 

It was just that kind of day. It rained in beautiful silver slits all morning and I settled into a cosy cocoon of nostalgia easily. It seemed just the weather to curl up with a book and blanket, but I had deadlines to chase. So I settled in with the writing pad and tea instead. 

Nevertheless, the rain seemed to have lulled my brain into a cosy sleep, because try as I might, I could come up with nothing to write about. 

I ended up sleeping for a brief while, until a dream jogged me into consciousness.

It was blurred but clear. It seemed like a special retelecast of a favourite memory from childhood, just for me.

Mariam and I were laughing, we were at the mystical and spooky garden at her house, I was hiding in the cavity in the Granma Tree, Mariam jumping when I boo-ed her.

It was disjoint, it was blurred, it was distinctly clear. 

I had to see her. Her laughter still rang in my ears. Her soft smile, moments before her death, her reassurance when I broke down.

I had to see her.

The albums were not in great condition. Hardly surprising given it was their first direct exposure to a world outside the cupboard in years. I caught myself hoping against hope, for our photographs to be left untouched, magically at least.

There it was, there She was, dressed like Spring, all pink flower-skirt and tees, holding out a bunch of flowers; I was standing beside, interested in a bug that was spotted suddenly in the midst of the click.

Photograph - Humankind's ultimate Innovation to freeze time. But it was championing my ignorance here. It was meant for freezing time, not its Impact. 

Mariam's face was blurred, but her smile shone through, even 35 years later. I found myself yearning for her company, her stoic presence beside me, her belief in my destiny as an Author.

I was tearing up, I wanted her to hold me while I cried, wanted her quite soothing. 

Mareem, Thank you. I never said it enough when I could. I could never express what you meant to me. But I know you Know. You might have heard my talks in my sleep, while you kept your pact of hovering near me when you were a spirit. I'm sure I spent a lot of dreams with you in our Secret Forest. I'm sure I was playing Hide n' seek (and Boo) with you. I'm sure I was laughing with You.

I know you Know.

I capped my pen and closed my pad. And leaned back and closed my eyes to shut out the light film of mist in them. 

Ah who knew Inspiration could be poignant